Dreams of Dust
by jakey121
Summary: "We dream of death, we dream of dust as our bodies fall into ash and bone." Welcome to the 35th Hunger Games! Written alongside DA Member Hogwarts.
1. Prologue Part One

**Chapter One.**

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**Dreams of Dust;  
The 35th Hunger Games.**

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**Prologue Part One.**

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**Renette Ainslie, 20 years old;  
Sister of Ilana Ainslie, Victor of the 34th Hunger Games.**

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A year on and Ilana can smile.

The anniversary of her own reaping dawns closer, an ominous cloud hanging over the grain fields, Justice Building and huddled shacks left to bake under the sun. District Nine has hit that time of year again, the time when laughs are rare to come by, and eligible tributes cling to their tears rather than those they love.

Some might say it's not right for the one person who's faced the horrors in the Games to walk around with a head full of joy, her laugh a sound to behold. Some might say it's wrong, totally, unutterably wrong. She should be remembering what she had to do, my little sister the killer, the girl who slew a twelve year old child like carving a cake and disposed of her allies without shedding a tear.

The bookworm, dreamer, optimist. Her life scattered to the wind after returning; hollow eyes hidden in the shadow of her gaunt, dead face.

And now she can smile.

It isn't wrong, it's not disrespectful of the children waiting and not knowing of their fate once the reaping comes about. Those poor children who will have nothing but fear and death awaiting their future, and right now all they can do is cross their fingers and wish and hope that it will not be them.

Ilana can smile again, my little broken sister. A smile is her own special victory, one we can share as a family and find celebration from.

The District may fall to silence, but in our house, Ilana's laughs light up the air and resurrect the relationship we once shared together. She's coming back. My little sister is returning from her land of nightmares and monsters. Maybe not whole, but it's getting there.

She'll be the girl she once was.

"I prefer green, it brings out your eyes."

Ilana pulls out another dress, glancing at it once and letting out an impatient sigh. It's discarded like the others; reds and pinks and yellows left in a rainbow heap of frill and lace.

"Why do people always say that? Dresses can't bring out your eyes, your eyes are too small."

I giggle and Ilana looks up at me, perched on the side of her bed. Rummaging through more of her clothes, a sign of love from the Capitol, she bursts out laughing.

"I suppose green isn't too bad."

"See!" I cheer, pulling out the simple frock of green silk, a ribbon laced through the waist area. "It's perfect, you'll look stunning."

Her fingers go through the material, stroking out the creases. Pairs of shoes line the floor of her wardrobe, each a different colour to match her dresses and the vast amount of accessories piled up to the top of her vanity. The Capitol want Ilana to be their beautiful little... killer.

_Killer. _Ilana notices the crinkle in my brow, the way my hands curl into her duvet. _She's a killer, and if it weren't for those lives she stole, she'd be another coffin, accompanying my best friend to the grave._

It's hard, knowing he's down there. The boy from District Nine; my best friend, and his female counterpart none other than my sister.

Last year was tough.

But I have her. I refuse to let past sorrows overwhelm me like they did Ilana, suffocating me under miles and miles of regret. We're connected again, and this time, it'll stay this way.

"Seriously?" My laugh is a bit forceful, stunning Ilana to the ground with the pair of shoes clutched to her lap. "Black shoes and a green dress? Style is not your forte sweet sister."

Her cheeks break out in that blush, the same red warmth that she used to show as a little girl. I'd muss her hair and tell her she was being a ditz when all I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and never let go. They say there's a difference between being protective and killing a child's freedom.

Mother and father never cared, not once. It was up to me to look after Ilana, even if our age gap is almost non-existent.

"I don't understand the fuss, it's a reaping. I'm going to be sitting on the stage and once I'm on that train there'll be more clothes anyway." She huffs and throws the shoes across the room, temper flaring. "Shoes, dresses, is this all that matters?!"

The atmosphere, her laughs, the jigsaw pieces of what was once my little sister start to slip out of place again. The momentary bout of distress is hidden under the most comforting of smiles I can muster, whatever I can to show Ilana it's alright, that I'm here and the world isn't a scary place.

_It is, you stupid fool. Ilana's been through it. She doesn't dream anymore of fields of roses and silver skies. She dreams of blood and murder clinging to her like you once did._

"I know Ilana," I scoot on closer to the edge, flopping down into the heap of clothes and leaning forwards, disregarding the mess and attending to nothing but the tears brimming in my sister's eyes. Tears that bring out the green, lighting it up better than any dress could hope to achieve.

"This is a bunch of nonsense having to wrap you up in a pretty bow and whisk you away like you're some pet the Capitol can coo over. I'm sorry," I tilt her chin up, staring deep into her eyes and smiling despite the roiling in my stomach. "I'm sorry for what you have to go through again, but you know we're here. Everyone is here. Maybe not mum and dad, but your friends, your brother, and me. I'm here."

She sighs, nodding her head, scrunching her eyes up tight and shaking the tears away.

"I won the Games," she folds her hands into the soft dress, smiling and laughing, her entire body wracking with unfulfilled sobs as her shoulders relax, "I can wear a stupid dress. Black shoes don't go? Well, how about green, they _bring out my eyes, _don't you think?"

I punch her in the shoulder playfully, and just for another moment in this dreary life we lead, balancing on the edge between my little sister plunging back into horror or into the life we once led, I see her peering back and coming towards me.

The girl that would hug me and cry into my shoulder if someone hurt her. When I had to mature to a person twice my age just so my little sister had someone to be with. The girl who would read rather than fulfill Nine's wish of her cutting grain for a living.

And now she's a Victor, with another Games coming along, two more souls she must attempt to save when the odds are completely stacked against them both.

It's a harsh life we lead.

And there may be no escape, but there's hope.

Hope can be fatal, it can kill as well as any danger Ilana had to go through. Or, it could save us and restore the life she used to lead.

We dream of death, we dream of dust as our bodies fall into ash and bone.

But I dream of a happier time. And maybe, one day, it will happen.

One day.

One day, things will get better. Ilana's dreams of a place where people smile, where war is no more and conflict is but a distant memory. Maybe, maybe that can happen. Maybe hope is the best thing we have, the one thing we must protect.

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**So, another story! Yeah yeah, I know what you're all thinking (Teddy and Immy -.-), wondering how I can juggle three separate stories. Well, summer is pretty much here (with the exception of exams) and two of these stories are written in a collaboration of sorts with other authors. So really, it's not that much work to take on, and I'm past the point of where I used to quit stories. I'm always determined to finish what I start now (Teddy and Immy -.-), and that's no exception with this, MIB and Textiles! I don't do anything outside of sitting in my room and occasionally hanging with friends and family, so the more I have to write the happier I become xD**

**Yeah so as the summary suggests and the above note, this is written with DA Member Hogwarts. We'll tackle twelve tributes each which will be decided upon once we receive forms and sort out the twenty-four tributes. Maybe some will need to be declined, it all depends on how many we receive. It's open submissions, on my profile will be the number of males and females we've received, as well as the deadline. PM me for the form. No reservations, once we hit the deadline we'll close submissions and decide on who to accept. Oh, and you can submit as many tributes as you like but only one will be accepted per author.**

**Anyway I think that is all for this chapter. Next up we'll have Megan's side of the prologue and the link to the blog! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, looking forward to seeing all your tributes!  
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	2. Prologue Part Two

**Chapter Two.**

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**Prologue Part Two.**

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**Rona Arnelle, 18 years old;  
Girlfriend of Lolita Bellamy, Tribute of the 34th Hunger Games.**

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Reaping day. One year to the day that everything changed.

There was never a year that we were surer of a victory. Our volunteer was the strongest, the most dedicated and a deadly shot with a bow. She had charm and beauty in abundance, not to mention a sister to mentor her through it all. Lolita Bellamy, younger sister of the infamous Adara Bellamy had every chance in the world. The sponsors were lining up to have a claim to her victory, the Capitol adored her and her fellow tributes feared her. How could it have gone wrong?

But go wrong it did, the girl who could not lose became the first to fall. I will never forget her menacing smile as she poised her bow for an attack that did not come. Seconds later she sank to her knees, silver gleaming into the back of her golden head. The girl from District Four made a huge spectacle of her guilt and remorse.

She claimed she had been aiming for the little boy from Twelve and that Lolita had came out of nowhere, but I knew differently. Lolita's arrogance had come back to haunt her. I almost don't blame that girl for taking her chance in taking out the biggest competition. Sure, it was low, maybe even cowardly, but who could blame her really. Obviously she valued her own life more than a stuck up, spoiled, blonde brat.

I'll never forget how I felt in that moment. Whilst the rest of her supporters wept, cursed and shook, I was overcome with shame and embarrassment. A District One tribute being the first to die, especially one like Lolita is unheard of. It is shaming no matter what anyone else says. They say Lolita could not have done anything to prevent this tragedy and that the girl had it in for her. It was a terrible accident, Lolita died blamelessly, they chanted numbly.

Lies.

She should not have flaunted her 'brilliance'; she should have been resilient and watched her back. I'll bet she treated her allies the way she treated everyone, myself included. In fact I know that she did. I bet she taunted that girl and put her down like she did to anyone who stood in her way of getting what she desired.

I hate the girl from Four and I will until I take my last breath, but I cannot blame her. She may have been the one who held the weapon but Lolita signed away her own life the second she called to volunteer. Nothing was good enough for her, she needed this next accolade or she wouldn't have been happy. She had her friends, admirers even and an adoring family. She had wealth and status thanks to Adara and she had all of the love in the world from me. It wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough.

Today we were supposed to go to the reaping ceremony together. I was to volunteer as my proud victor girlfriend watched from her throne. We were going to be unstoppable. We would show them all that sexuality had nothing to do when it came to fame, success and power. We were going to change the world, or so we thought. Though instead of this dazzling first day of the rest of our lives, I stand alone by her graveside.

Crouching by the white marble headstone with its glittering gold font spelling out the name of my fallen girlfriend, the familiar bitter anger threatens to swallow me once more. Among the pebbles and floral arrangements covering the soil of Lolita's final resting place are messages. Why would anyone feel the need to write to a girl who will never again open her eyes? It is sickening to me.

Their hollow, plastic words repulse me as I read at random;

_Rest in peace Lolita, you were taken too soon though you live on in our hearts._

_You were too good for this world._

_Your beauty, charisma and grace have left their mark on this earth. _

_Lolita was like a rare and beautiful flower that has sadly become extinct. We weep at the loss but cherish the memories. _

It's funny how when somebody dies tributes pour in honoring the person as though they were some godly being. It's almost as though it is illegal to ever speak or think realistically of the revered dead. All you will hear of that person is of how great they were, how special and wonderful.

_You will live forever in our hearts. You were everything we all aspire to be. _

Lolita was a bitch. I know it along with anyone else who actually knew her. These mourning strangers could not tell you the first thing about her. As for her living forever in memory and 'heart' that is ludicrous. This anonymous writer makes it seem as though they themselves are immortal. What about when those who remember Lolita succumb to the inevitable themselves? No one can live forever.

The Lolita who exists on these graveside notes is not the Lolita whom I remember. The real Lolita was a cold hearted, pretentious and self centered bitch. I loved her more than I can even express.

She wasn't some perfect, model citizen who was universally loved and respected. She was the girl who wanted recognition and admiration. She was the girl who refused to leave home if she was having a bad hair day. She hated crowds and did her best to avoid conversation with those she viewed as beneath her. She chewed on her bottom lip when she was frightened or stressed and she watched the sunset every evening without fail. She was a lot of things, she was far from perfect.

A soft touch on my shoulder pulls me from my musings. I sigh as I look up into the concerned face of Adara Bellamy. She doesn't say a word as she crouches to join me. I straighten up and hastily wipe at my eyes, surprised to find them dry for the first time in almost a year.

Adara extracts a pale pink piece of paper and begins to scribble in pencil. She's done this every day since the burial. I find it hard to scorn her for this; after all she is probably the person who knew Lolita best after me.

"You are still angry with her. You've never left a message" She says this more as a statement than a question. I don't care for the soft edge to her voice. I don't need pity. Adara is probably the one person who did not encourage her sister's dreams. We used to think she was jealous and didn't want to share the limelight, but I know now that isn't the case; she knew how this could end.

"I do not see the point in all of these rituals. She's gone and nothing will change what she has done."

Adara simply places her fresh note among the roses and colored stones. She then takes my hand and gently presses another sheet and her pencil into my grasp.

"You have to learn to live with it. Tell her how you feel; tell her whatever you are thinking."

"I'm thinking that I hate her for leaving me." I respond childishly. "She wasn't some perfect angel; I won't lie to make myself feel better."

Adara sighs.

"She was a wonderful person, Rona. She impressed many people with her beauty and her skills. Everybody loved Lolita."

"Words will not change everything that has happened. All we have to remember her by now is a hole in the earth and a sickeningly fake funeral."

"It was a moving send off, Lolita would have loved it." Adara quips clinically. As if a lavish funeral is some consolation for a life cut off at seventeen.

"Funerals are for the living!" I spit.

"What are you talking about, the funeral served to commemorate and honor the life of a brave soul."

"Funerals are for the living, Adara." I remark dryly. "And Lolita was not brave, she was a fool. She was a deluded, self important fool."

I know that much is true. Funerals are for the sole purpose of comforting and appeasing those left behind to rearrange the shattered pieces. Lolita's body may be the one that is physically scarred, but as soon as she freed her last breath those scars were inherited by her loved ones. Funerals are for those who mourn, they don't mean a thing to the one who's escaped from the suffering. Human beings are selfish, that much is obvious. We aren't saddened because that person's life has been cut short and because they will miss so much. No, we grieve because _we_ will miss that person, because _we_ needed them. It's pathetic.

Adara remains silent. She is the only person who does not react with shock and disgust to my harsh words of Lolita. Most people would think I could not truly love her with the way in which I remember her, but they don't have a clue. I love her for who she was and how I felt whilst she was with me; I don't love the manufactured version of her.

"I'll leave you in peace. You should try it," she says motioning to paper and pen "it helps, believe me."

Adara leaves me, no doubt to get ready for the ceremony. It seems strange to me now that I ever wished to volunteer for this. It's surreal to me now that the choice even exists.

I used to blindly accept the world around me, knowing that it was for the best, but now I am not so sure. It is as though something has been awakened and I can picture a world beyond the one we know. What if there didn't have to be the Hunger Games? I can dare to imagine a new world now. We could make a difference, rewrite our history.

No suffering, no oppression, no blind devotion and delusion. No Hunger Games.  
I'm starting to think that wouldn't be such a bad thing. I can't quite put my finger on it but everything just feels different. It's like something within me is coming to an end so that new things can begin.

Lolita's death need not be meaningless. Nothing is meaningless if it manages to inspire even one person.

I unfold the sheet in my trembling hands, kneel by the headstone and retrieve the unwanted pencil. I force myself to write. Adara is wrong, it would never help me to pour out my feelings and give in to my selfish human nature. I can't write sweet lies or heartfelt sentiments to a girl who is no longer in my life. Instead, I trace out the letters of my last tribute to a girl who with her death managed to save me;

_Thank you._

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**Hey, I'm Megan and I'm writing this alongside Jake. It's been a long time since I've written anything at all and so I'm really not used to it and I struggle with prologues, hopefully I can improve throughout and find it easier to write your tributes. Thanks to everyone who submitted and sorry to those who we could not accept. I hope you enjoyed this prologue for what it was worth.**

**Okay, that is all, enjoy the blog! **

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**Tribute List**

**District One:**

Male- Lysander Davenport _(Burning Stars)_

Female- Tallis Altier _(Sunlight Comes Creeping In)_

**District Two:**

Male- Dario Marston _(Munamana)_

Female- Leven Foxe _(jessicallons-y)_

**District Three:**

Male- Soren Ansel _(ejbrown18)_

Female- Meva Ralline _(Cashmere67)_

**District Four:**

Male- Sheen Howell _(Flintlightning)_

Female- Gemini Leole _(Acereader55)_

**District Five:**

Male- Assisi Umbria _(Vulkodlak)_

Female- Raegan Kalis _(LokiThisIsMadness)_

**District Six:**

Male- Charles Craft _(Hoprocker)_

Female- Celeste Damount _(Vaan Levy)_

**District Seven:**

Male- Alfie Caulfield _(Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg)_

Female- Etolie Laville _(QuietConspiracy)_

**District Eight:**

Male- Septimius Cort _(hopes and dreams all fade away)_

Female- Chiffon Vander _(Axe Smelling God)_

**District Nine:**

Male- Evander Eldegwy _(Atashi Desu)_

Female- Tamarin Bray _(Foxface5)_

**District Ten:**

Male- Cayden Armani _(jacob1106)_

Female- Sayla Reinhardt _(Aspect of One)_

**District Eleven:**

Male- Clarence Higbee _(SomeDays)_

Female- Dilara Donovan _(Remus98)_

**District Twelve:**

Male- Ash Rowe _(Jalen Kun)_

Female- Riva Buchanan _(Lupus Overkill)_

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**Blog link – dreamsofdusthungergames . blogspot (Also on profile)**

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**Okay hey, Jake here. First up a big thanks to everyone who submitted, just like Megan said, also apologies to those that weren't accepted. We had a lot more tributes than we expected and we had to cut it down to just twenty-four. We know we've made the right decisions and we're both excited to get this story going!**

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**As per usual, we'll have a question mentioned at the bottom of each chapter. Here we go!**

_**From the blog, based on first impressions, who are your favourites and why?**_

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**Or you know, do the chart thing that's popular for every blog ;D**

**Yeah so up next are the reapings, I won't promise some kind of chapter format because I don't think we're even entirely sure yet. We'll try to keep consistent updates, though the next few weeks might be difficult because of exams, but during summer I'm sure everything will run smoothly.**

**Once again, thanks for submitting, and we'll see ya next time!**


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